Page 108 of This is a Kissing Book

“Wow,” I breathe.

We ask if we can take photos and examine the desk. As if thrilled by our interest, Dorothy gives us free rein, saying she has to rotate for her hour at the front desk, but that it’s okay for us to stick around for a few more minutes if we promise to leave everything as it was and close the door securely.

“It reminds me of the Resolute Desk,” Linc says.

“The one in the Oval Office?” I ask, referring to the piece gifted by Queen Victoria to the sitting president, Rutherford B. Hayes, in 1880, out of timbers from a ship that explored the Arctic, called HMS Resolute.

Dorothy nods. “Historians speculate that this desk provided inspiration, but as the Resolute Desk was a gift from overseas and much later, I might add, it remains uncertain.”

After giving her our thanks, Dorothy leaves. We look carefully at the desk. Linc also notices something odd about the wood panel running along the side and points it out. “Could be that numerous moves around the house knocked it loose.”

The corner of my lip lifts. “Or it could be a secret hiding place.”

Pressing gently, we hear a soft click. Behind it is a narrow space, a hidden compartment, but it’s empty except for dust and the faint scent of old wood.

“The letters could have been here,” I breathe.

“But they’re not now,” Linc says, disappointment heavy in his voice.

I snap some photos moments before footsteps echo along the nearby pathway. A surge of panic seizes me and I have to take a steadying breath, reminding myself that we’re not in a tunnel, no one is chasing us. Probably.

We quickly close the panel, cover the desk, and secure the shed’s door.

I glance over my shoulder, but it’s only a tour group approaching. Without thinking, Linc and I join hands—a couple strolling on a summer afternoon through the rose garden, admiring the historical architecture.

My mind races like a thoroughbred, thinking about Linc. Too bad no one would put money on me being with him in real life—the possibility of us only exists in this made-for-TV fantasy.

Linc and I spend the rest of the day searching the city, but we find nothing else. No more hidden compartments, no clues about where the letters might have gone, no breadcrumbs to follow.

Thankfully, no more thugs.

“We’re at a dead end,” I admit as we sit in a quiet room at a public library, surrounded by books that haven’t given us any answers.

He says, “We’ve been gone for days. Maybe we ought to head back to Chicago.”

I nod, though the thought of giving up the search makes me feel heavy. “Yeah. I should probably check in at my real job before my boss fires me.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Even though traveling by private jet back the way we came is as surreal as when we left, everything between Linc and me is now layered with the memory of our very real adventure, the kiss in the alley, and unanswered questions—and not only about the lost love letters.

Linc seems slightly subdued like thoughts weigh heavily in his mind, too.

Are they about him and me? The men who were chasing us through the tunnels? The fact that he may never find the letters? Something else?

All I find myself doing is staring at his hands, remembering how they framed my face. His mouth on mine. The way we felt together.

By the time we land, I’m a bundle of nervous energy, unsure whether I’m more anxious about returning to work or about what happens next between Linc and me. We share a gentle parting kiss and go home in separate, sleek black cars.

Mine delivers me to Logan Square, and we’re halfway down the block to my building when I realize something is very, very wrong.

It isn’t there.

Well, the ghost of the building is there, but it’s a blackened shell. Police tape flutters in the evening breeze and the smell of smoke hangs in the air. I don’t see any firetrucks, but a few official-looking people in hard hats pick through the debris.

The driver leaves, and I stand on the sidewalk, blinking at what used to be my home.

“Excuse me,” I call to one of the investigators. “I live here. What happened?”